[center][abbr=#B8041A | Alt+0248 for ø][img]https://i.ibb.co/wY7GYz8/Kaspar-Header-2.png[/img][/abbr]
[hr][color=#B8041A][b]LOCATION[/b][/color][b]:[/b] Torragonese Desert
[color=#B8041A][b]INTERACTIONS[/b][/color][b]:[/b] Ayla [@Ti], Various [@Force and Fury]
[hr][/center]
Kaspar could feel the way his heart sped up as the sand wyrm barreled ever closer. The boy had never been particularly religious, but felt his mind grasping for anything to pray to, any being that might see fit to spare the collection of individuals waiting with bated breath. 

He didn’t want to die. Despite all the things he was forbidden to speak of, every harsh lesson that his future hinged upon… He didn’t wish to leave it behind. Gods, he had parents who [i]loved[/i] him, and how few people could say the same? He had a home to return to, a family and a place within this world. The threads of his fate did not wish to be cut short. 

[color=#B8041A][i]Fuck. [b]Fuck[/b].[/i][/color]

Kaspar swallowed down the curses that wanted to spill from his lips, pressing against his tongue and pleading to be released. It would do nothing for them now, not as their massive adversary closed the distance with frightening speed. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but the boy knew he couldn’t risk the safety of his team with such cowardice. The only thing left to do was hope, to cling to the faith that their plan could save them.

The sand closed in. Granules washed over him, the trembling of the ground leaving the noble sure that he would sink right in, swallowed by the earth. He felt it spray over his face and suck at his legs, uncertain for a moment if this was how death should feel, large and shaking with a fear that seemed to sap the marrow from his very bones. 

But the wave of sand moved on, the agonizing eighty-some feet of wyrm certainly giving them time enough to contemplate. The shaking would lessen, until the ground stopped moving altogether as the beast burrowed off in the distance, following the low thrum of a giant tuning fork. Kaspar was alive to see the stillness of the dunes and his companions around him, buried and frightened but not beyond this world. 

His knees gave out, and the boy would have collapsed onto his hands if he were not so buried. As it was, he fell backward into a seated position, as though he were sitting at a table, palms scraping into the surface behind him. He let out a noise of disbelief, glancing toward the whooping Jocasta, mouth half-open in awe. Kaspar had felt more emotions in the past few moments than he thought he ever had—he could feel the itch of the sand against his awareness, something in his body begging to draw in mana, to combat whatever had deserved such a surge of adrenaline. 

He gave in, destroying small bits of sand around him and ignoring the soft kiss of pain against the heels of his hands as a smattering of cells were taken, leaving something akin to rug burn on the now-tender skin. The red-eyed boy sucked in a deep breath, exhaling with a watery chuckle, and finally began to take stock of his faculties.

He’d been so happy to have such high-cut boots, excellent for keeping the sand out—and they were buried past the tops now, filled with the pesky material that shifted uncomfortably against his feet. He tugged, feeling resistance in the weight of the grain, and began to work one leg in a circular motion, dragging it gently from the avalanche before applying a similar tactic to the other. 

Kaspar glanced to Jocasta, who was now offering praise to the lioness who had saved their hides. He nodded in agreement, still too breathless to talk, but felt the gratitude well up in his chest nonetheless. Then the chair-bound girl offered some advice, arguing against confronting these so-called caretakers—and he had to admit it was intelligent. He was no stranger to stoicism, but could understand the indignance they might feel in this “refuge”, and the way some of his teammates may want to tackle it head-on. 

Pushing to his feet, the Elstrøm resolved to compartmentalize, first getting the resources they would need. He breathed out steadily, visualizing the draining of any latent emotion with the carbon dioxide and inhaling only clean air and staunch focus. 

[hr][center][color=#B8041A][b]LOCATION[/b][/color][b]:[/b] The Refuge[/center][hr]
The presence of so many individuals put Kaspar on high alert. With the curious peering and murmuring of children, the boy actually slipped toward the back of the group, shuffling until he was somewhat hidden behind Ayla. Caretakers were yelling in at least two languages, though their charges did not seem to care much for listening—something the noble could understand. 

Several small forms managed to break through the ranks of adults, approaching their sand-riddled pack with wide eyes and high voices. One in particular stumbled up to Kaspar, his face echoing the uncertainty the red-eyed boy felt as the child began to speak. [color=#004b80][b]”Are you guys like… Here to pick up anyone... or something?”[/b][/color]

He felt a pang in his chest and dropped to a knee beside the child, trying to hear his next words—and failing, with the cacophony of voices around them. His mouth opened and shut several times, trying to decide how one was supposed to talk to a child and offer hope without offering lies. He thought of what his father would do, how the marquis could be reassuring but honest, and tried to channel confidence into his voice as he finally replied softly, [color=#B8041A][b]"I… I’m not sure. But we [I]are[/i] here to help."[/b][/color]

This didn’t seem to assuage the child’s nervousness, and Kaspar grasped for anything else that might help—and remembered his conversation with Zarina. He held up a closed hand, assembling a small marble in it, and opened the fingers to reveal the swirled pattern in the orb of glass. He waved a hand over it, trying to capture the child’s fascination.

It was then that the warden barked more orders, and his audience seemed set to flee. [color=#B8041A][b]"Here!"[/b][/color] Kaspar called as the boy began to turn, grabbing his hand and pressing the marble into his palm. [color=#B8041A][b]"Keep this—it’s very special."[/b][/color] The child, nervous and mumbling, seemed unsure what to make of the gift as he ran-hobbled back from the students, disappearing into the crowd of other individuals. Kaspar stared after him for a moment, feeling another unwelcome surge of emotions and reflections on life as one of the unwanted—and then seemed to realize he was still kneeling, and straightened quickly, clearing his throat and setting his jaw. 

As Warden Ortega began to speak, the noble remained silent and studious. He would not need to be silenced by any of Jocasta’s glares, opting instead to note what information was being offered and, perhaps more importantly, what [i]wasn’t[/i]. The man put on a friendly enough air, but Kaspar felt suddenly like a member of some inspection, an individual who was provided an act so everything seemed alright. Knowing what they’d heard from Jocasta, he would not be surprised to know this was the case. 

It was Marceline that more readily caught his attention—and he felt she had some rather prudent points to be made. The aberration was their main concern, and the sand wyrm was deadly enough without it—who knows what could happen in the hours they might spend sleeping. Yet, it seemed they would be without a choice, unless the students wanted to slip out in the night without further consulting the refuge. 

He watched the interactions between the warden and Marceline—the reluctant deferment, and the way he seemed to try and overtake her in the conversation, discounting her arguments and instead pressing for the comfort of the individuals who were supposed to be solving a significant issue. The way his fingers rested on her shoulder for a moment, Kaspar wondering what weight they held—punishment? A threat? A reminder of the power he was supposed to hold? Coupled with the grin that split beneath the mustache, the Helbanese boy felt his own skin crawl in the moment, as though a phantom hand pressed upon his shoulder too. 

But the moment was gone, and the warden walking off and leaving this Marceline to see to their guests—hypocritical of him, in Kaspar’s eyes, to speak so much of their comfort and not see to it himself. Though, in truth, he was glad the man was gone, and glad to be getting a chance for sleep. Unless any of his companions voiced an opposition, he would simply follow, crimson gaze scanning the lanterns that seemed to be lit and awaiting their arrival.